


paths

by efflorescens



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efflorescens/pseuds/efflorescens
Summary: “Answer me honestly, Oretsev. Could I really becomemorehandsome than I already am? Because I think the universe might be at its limit.”Mal doesn’t want to look at him, but there isn’t anything else in the coach to point his eyes at. Nikolai commands all the attention in any room he steps in, coaches included, and Mal's reluctant gaze settles on the young prince that looks less princely in this light and more like a weary soldier trying to carry the weight of an entire war-ravaged country on his shoulders. And yet even now, a sliver of moonlight from the window settles on his golden hair, like even the night sky wants to express its adoration.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nikolai Lantsov/Mal Oretsev
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	paths

nikolai comes to collect mal in the middle of the night.

* * *

Nikolai looks good with blood on his teeth. It's the first thought Mal has after he catches him across the mouth with his right hook.

His second thought is remembering that Nikolai Lantsov is more than just a pretty face. He hits him back, his gloved fist digging into his bruised ribs, then catches Mal by the shoulders to slightly ease his backwards collision against the black coach awaiting them. Fury shoots through him, a sensation he’s all too exhausted of feeling. Anger has worn him down to the shell of the man he used to be — anger and fear and the bitter sense of loss. 

Nikolai's voice cuts through the pain while Mal sags against his hands. 

“You were remarkably easy to find, Oretsev. Down here, you’re almost as famous as I am.”

 _Down here_ being the grisha fighting pits that Mal has spent entirely too many nights in. Drunk or sober, he fights every time he comes here, and he wins. Grisha or not. 

Most of the time, anyway. He shudders when he draws in a breath, the sharp lance of pain like what he imagines grisha steel would feel like between his ribs. 

“Why are you here?” Mal asks, his voice rough, blue eyes flicking upwards to stare at Nikolai through his dark hair falling across his forehead. He watches him lick blood from the corner of his mouth. 

“Alina doesn’t sleep well knowing you’re out torturing yourself every night. As her royal and hopeful suitor, I’m here to collect you so that she might look back and fondly remember me as the bigger person here.” 

Mal snorts and immediately regrets it, grimacing when Nikolai steps closer. 

“I don’t need your help, your majesty.” He would shove him if he didn’t think he’d end up taking himself out along with Nikolai. “Hard pass on helping you convince Alina to marry you. You’ll have to do that on your own merit.”

A flicker of a smile quirks at the corner of Nikolai’s mouth — fuck his mouth and how much attention he’s giving it — but it doesn’t quite reach the hazel of his eyes. Nikolai has tiny, _minuscule_ tells, so small and fleeting that Mal knows most of the adoring public miss them beneath his expensive teal and gold embroidery and all the unnecessary fucking talking. Nikolai is insecure about his unsteady footing with Alina. Mal would take comfort in that, in knowing that Alina still thinks about him just as he dreams of her at night, but thoughts and dreams won’t give her the things she deserves. Nikolai can give her everything that Mal can’t. Nikolai can make her a queen.

Nikolai doesn’t fucking deserve her, but Mal deserves her even less. He presses a hand to his tender ribs while Nikolai opens the door of the coach and not-so-gently shoves him inside. 

“I’ll have someone take a look at that for you,” Nikolai says as he hoists himself up behind him and pulls the door shut. He taps against the roof of the coach twice and they begin to move. “The captain of the Sun Summoner’s guard can’t go limping about like that, although I’ll admit those fresh bruises do give you a bit of a dashing, rugged edge. It’s quite on brand.”

“I can arrange that for you, too.” Mal leans back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “Some more dashing and rugged bruises.”

“Answer me honestly, Oretsev. Could I really become _more_ handsome than I already am? Because I think the universe might be at its limit.”

Mal doesn’t want to look at him, but there isn’t anything else in the coach to point his eyes at. Nikolai commands all the attention in any room he steps in, coaches included, and Mal's reluctant gaze settles on the young prince that looks less princely in this light and more like a weary soldier trying to carry the weight of an entire war-ravaged country on his shoulders. And yet even now, a sliver of moonlight from the window settles on his golden hair, like even the night sky wants to express its adoration. 

Nikolai gets under his skin in the worst way, and _has_ since the moment he first saw him. Mal spends most of his time suffocating in the Little Palace and looking for excuses to be away from both Alina and Nikolai, because when he isn’t, his thoughts stray into the unwelcome territory of missing Alina and fixating far too much on the man that will more than likely take her away from him. There’s still blood on Nikolai’s mouth, though Mal knows he’ll get the bruise tailored away in the morning. He shouldn’t. It makes him look handsome. 

He won’t say it, because Nikolai’s ego does not need boosting.

“Let’s make a deal,” Mal says, straightening as well as his ribs will allow. “You never drag me back to the palace in the middle of the night and I’ll never punch you in the face again.” 

Nikolai gives him an easy grin, cocking a brow at him. “Was I interrupting your plans? Because from what I could see, your night was already at an end. Unless there was someone else waiting to take you back to their bed, and in that case, I accept gestures of heartfelt gratitude in the form of scented cards and good brandy. I spared an innocent civilian from —” he gestures at Mal vaguely with his right hand, “all of this.” 

“Or maybe you just wanted me all to yourself.” A stretch of uneven road jostles the coach, but Mal keeps his eyes steady, waiting for Nikolai to look away first. “ _Moi tsar_.”

Silence befalls them, and though Nikolai blinks once, he doesn’t break their gaze. Mal knows what he’s doing, in theory. They’ve been at this for weeks, this poorly-written song and dance. Nikolai has a dozen guards he could have asked to come collect Mal. There’s no reason for him to be sitting across from him right now instead of seeing to a hundred other tasks that require his personal attention. 

Nikolai is an expert with words, but Mal has seen him in fleetings moments with Alina, carefully nurturing the tiny bud of what will eventually be a powerful alliance. It’s during those times that Nikolai appears as young as he really is, less ostentatious and not quite as sure of himself as he leads everyone to believe. _Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you're human, but never when you feel it._

Nikolai breaks his rules for Alina, and Mal thinks he can see the tiniest crack now, the tiny thread of _want_ that led him out here tonight. Mal bides his time between stone-faced and devastated, and tonight he’s closer to the latter. 

He pushes a knee between Nikolai’s legs, bracing one scraped hand against the roof of the cramped coach. Nikolai’s chin lifts, but he doesn’t make a move to shove him away when Mal presses a thumb to the smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. 

“I hope you’re not going to hit me again, Malyen. My guards are loyal enough that no one will say a word if you happen to fall out of our carriage. Not sure what I’d tell Alina, though. Perhaps that you were unexpectedly martyred and will be memorialized in a grand painting.”

A breath escapes him, something between a sneer and a chuckle. 

“Hitting you again is the only thing I want to do more than this.” Mal thrusts one hand into Nikolai’s hair, fingers closing around a fistful of sandy locks as he draws him in for a rough kiss. Nikolai tastes like blood, but more than that, Mal feels like he’s being swept into the ocean’s tide, his stomach dropping when the saltwater drags him under. His fingers tighten when he feels Nikolai’s hand on him, sliding upwards as he traces his ribcage. Mal groans into his mouth, grabbing Nikolai’s wrist.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he growls. 

“Are you saying kissing me was not on purpose?” 

Mal heaves out a sigh, his hand coming to rest against the curve of Nikolai’s jaw, settling against his throat. Nikolai’s pulse jumps beneath the pad of his thumb. _Good_. 

“Right now, it’s on purpose.” Mal leans in again, the coach lurching suddenly as another strip of moonlight brightens Nikolai’s eyes so they nearly look green. “Anything that happens after won’t be.” 

Nikolai doesn’t respond immediately, a rarity for him, but Mal can feel the way he presses just slightly into his knee. From this close he can see the light smattering of freckles across Nikolai’s nose and the sandy brown of his lashes. He looks far too young to be called a king, and yet Mal knows in the morning Nikolai will enter for breakfast looking every bit the part. 

“I’m no stranger to heartfelt regret,” Nikolai finally says, softly, the bloody corner of his mouth quirking into the brief flash of a smile. 

Mal gives him another moment to change his mind, but Nikolai draws him in this time, tilting his mouth upwards to meet Mal’s lips. Mal recognizes hunger there — he knows Nikolai is pulled in far too many directions to spend much time indulging in things like this. Even now they’re not far from the Little Palace, and while it’s perfectly acceptable for the prince to go carousing at night, it would be far less so for the captain of the Sun Summoner’s guard to tumble said prince.

It doesn’t stop him from kissing back. As they make their way back to their temporary home, Mal memorizes the shape of Nikolai’s lips and the lines of muscle beneath his shirt. His mouth is different from Alina’s — a little wider though no less soft — and his fingers scratch against the bare hint of blond stubble at his jaw. It feels like mere seconds before the coach pulls to a rumbling stop and Nikolai breaks the kiss and draws in an unsteady breath. Mal watches in fascination, because Nikolai is never unsteady about anything, and he might never have this moment again. 

“Your purposefulness does not go unappreciated, Oretsev.” Nikolai straightens as Mal pulls back, adjusting his coat. “I think we’ll all sleep better tonight knowing you’ve safely returned to us.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Mal grunts, his hand back against his aching ribs. He licks his lips and imagines Nikolai’s mouth again. “You’ll have the sweetest dreams tonight. Just not sure they’ll be about Alina.” 

Nikolai casts a glance in his direction, a muscle jumping in his jaw before he settles back into his familiar smile. “You might be quite right, there.” 

Mal watches as Nikolai springs the door open and steps outside, not looking back as he disappears into the palace.


End file.
